Words that We Don't Say
by silver chipmunk
Summary: Some things don't need to be said... Or do they? Starsky's home from the hospital after the restaurant shooting.


Disclaimer: I don't own Starsky and Hutch, and I'm not doing this for money.

Authors note: This was written for the Me and Thee list "Shootout tag" challenge. Sort of pre-slash.

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Words the We Don't Say

Starsky looked plaintively up at Hutch from his seat in his own small kitchen.

"Aw, come on, Hutch! Let's go out for some real food" he whined.

"For the last time, no. You told me not to let you talk me into going out when I felt like staying in for scrambled eggs again. And scrambled eggs are a perfect invalid food. So tonight we are having scrambled eggs here, at your place." Hutch replied firmly. "And then you are going to take your medicine and go to bed."

"Yes mom" Starsky muttered. Then he shrugged philosophically, and winced at the pain in his shoulder. It had been his first day out of the hospital and back to work after the shooting in the Italian restaurant, and probably staying in was a better idea anyway. Besides, Hutch's scrambled eggs were nothing to sneer at, so it wasn't really a sacrifice. Still, it was never a good idea to give in too easily to Hutch. Better to make him work for his victories. But now honor had been served, and he could dig into the delectable plate of soft, fluffy eggs, served with crusty toast and strawberry jam.

Hutch had a small plate himself, and then sat and watched his partner eat with undisguised pleasure. Starsky was alive, and whole, and well, and it had so nearly been otherwise. Well, almost whole. But the bullet in his shoulder had, amazingly, missed everything of any importance, and once the wound itself was healed, Starsky would be as good as new again.

As good as new again, this time. The thought intruded itself into Hutch's happy reverie. This time things were all right. How long could that go on?

"Hey, whatcha' looking at?" Starsky broke into his thoughts before he had a chance to really start brooding.

Hutch laughed. "You, mushbrain. Thinking it's about time we got you into bed."

Starsky started to protest, but interrupted himself with a huge yawn. He grinned, shamefaced. "I guess you're right, I'm pretty beat."

"I know I'm right. You're still healing, so your body is using up energy on that. So let me get you ready for bed."

"Hutch! I can do that myself!" Starsky growled.

"All right, all right. I'll just help. Here, take your pain killers. You know you won't sleep without them, and I don't want to deal with your crankiness tomorrow if you don't." Hutch got the bottle from the bathroom and imperiously handed Starsky two.

"You know if I take those I'll be dead to the world for 12 hours."

"That's the idea, Starsk. I'll be here in case anything happens. Here, you can take 'em with root beer." He poured a glass and handed it to Starsky.

Starsky gave him an evil look but obediently swallowed them down.

Hutch helped him out of his clothes and into his pajamas. By the time he was done, the pills had started to take effect, and Starsky was swaying on his feet. Hutch put an arm around him and led him to bed.

He got Starsky tucked in, and was about to leave when a hand on his arm stopped him.

"Hutch, ya' know something? People don't know nothin'." Starsky's voice was muzzy, obviously he was almost asleep from the drugs. "People act like 'cause I'm the one got hurt this time, and all you had to do was be a hero once 'n then it was over, then it was easier on you. Like I had the hardest time 'cause I was hurt, and you could just walk away after 'n forget about it. But I know better, Hutch. I know what you went through, carryin' all that weight. When you carried me into the back room, wasn't just me you were carryin', it was the weight of everybody in that restaurant, all of their lives, and the lives of every body that'd die in the gang war shootin' Vic Monte would cause. But I know... Know you're still carryin' my weight, Babe..."

"Starsk..." Hutch tried to break in.

"No Hutch, listen... I know you. Know everything you were going through." His voice thickened a little. "Know everything in your head..." He paused, then went on "Know everything in your heart, too. You know that, doncha'? Ever' thing..." He looked up at Hutch, and their eyes met for a long moment. Starsky lifted his hand towards Hutch's face, brushed his fingers gently across his cheek, then dropped it again. "Ever' thing..."

"Starsk... time for you to go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

He patted Starsky on the head. By the time he reached the bedroom door, Starsky was sound asleep.

Hutch didn't find sleep as easy, though. He tossed and turned on the couch. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he got up and walked back into the bedroom. There was just enough light from the street outside through the window to see by. Starsky was curled on his side. In sleep, he looked like a little boy tired from playing, rather than the complex, powerful adult he really was.

Hutch sat softly on the edge of the bed. Starsky didn't move. Gently Hutch brushed an errant curl away from the peaceful face.

Of course Starsky knew what was in his heart. Just like he knew what was in Starsky's... knew all the things they never said, never even thought about, except sometimes at moments like this, when something had come to close. All those things they never even dared admit to themselves, much less to each other. There wasn't any room in their lives for those things, so why talk about it, think about it... certainly never do anything about it.

Hutch gave one last gentle pat to the tousled curls, then, sighing, shuffled back of to the lonely couch. Starsky was alive, and well, and that would have to be enough.


End file.
